


A Beautiful Lie

by solemnwar



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solemnwar/pseuds/solemnwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda Ripley should have learned long ago that if something seems too good to be true... it probably is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Lie

            Ripley shook, the barrel of the shotgun wavering with each muscle twitch as ragged breath came in and out, a hairs-breadth away from screaming, but silent as her jaw tensed almost hard enough to crack teeth, painful but not nearly as painful as the shattering of her last dregs of trust, the brutal sting of betrayal.

            She was covered in white— synthetic fluid, their life-blood, the easiest confirmation of their non-human status— but she barely even noticed, as she stared at the ruined form of the synthetic that it had come from.

            _Samuels_.

            But no. It was not him— not really. It had his face, his voice, his personable charm and care... or so she had thought. It was like having the chance to do things over, to make things right, wipe the slate and balance the scales... instead it had come to this.

            _You Weyland-Yutani bastards_.

            She had survived Sevastopol— just, almost dying at the end to the cold vacuum of space, before a ship had picked her up. There had been a period of investigation. Of probing. Of therapy and drugs to quell the night terrors; and for a while she had been doing okay. Not great, not with what she knew, what she saw, but considering, she was doing all right.

            And then, just like before, just like Sevastopol, she had heard her name called while she worked. She had thought the familiarity of the voice was just lack of sleep messing with her, had turned to tell off whoever was bothering her at work... and froze, the words dead in her mouth as static buzzed in her mind, purely in shock to see _him_ standing there again.

            _It can’t be, you’re dead, I saw you die!_

            And, of course, it was not him. Just his face, his name, his voice. _Everything._ “The Company thought... it would be best to approach you with a face you recognised,” he had explained, with that warm-hearted smile that was uniquely his, and yet not so unique after all. But that had not mattered, not to her, not then.

            _A chance to atone, a chance to pay back that enormous debt of sacrifice..._

            They had wanted her help, the Company. With something far-off and remote, bad damages that needed fixing, and who better than she, after all, with all she had survived in Sevastopol? It had rung dimly flat, a lie, but she had ignored it because the synthetic doing the asking was so familiar in every damning, heart-breaking way. She would help him, make his life a little easier— _“You talk like I’ve had an actual life. I... thank you for that.”_ — and do what the company asked, because he would be there.

            _And oh, look how that has helped you, Amy_ , her own voice mocked bitterly at her.

            They had gone, and she had even said to him, _Thank-you._ He had been confused, and she had explained, _You’re not the Samuels I knew, but... I feel like I have to say it, because I never got the chance._ He had smiled his warm smile at that, and she felt that perhaps, slowly, she could recover from Sevastopol.

            But that smile had hidden the deceit. He had Samuels’ face, his voice, that affable personality, but he was a synthetic after all, and they did whatever they were programmed... and he was programmed to ensure the capture of _the Alien_ , no matter the cost. And there had been, that was the only reason she had been picked— who else had gone up against one, and lived, aside from her mother, still missing in the vastness of space, probably dead?

            She had wanted it destroyed. Burn away every trace it had ever existed, exact revenge for every life it had taken, for taking away her mother, for the horrors it had inflicted on her mind. She insisted on this course of action, and could not be deterred; no argument could sway her from the course she had plotted. And so, he used forced— either to get her to back down, or to kill her to protect the creature.

            _His hand encircling around her arm, bruising painfully with synthetic strength, slamming her against the cold metal walls, his other hand circling around her neck, and wasn’t that a familiar sensation, calling back to Sevastopol?_

            She had still had her other arm free, holding the shotgun. Awkwardly— she was no soldier, and it was a two-handed weapon besides— she had managed to maneuver it enough to point at him, barrel just shy of touching his jacket— _the same one as before_ — and pulled the trigger.

            Shocked, he had let her go, which was his mistake, giving her the chance to pull the trigger again, and again, and again, until the shells were spent, then reloading and spending them again, until no more ammo was left, and Samuels was dead at her hands.

            _You talk like I’ve had an actual life._

            Her hands shook harder, the empty gun clattering against itself. Dead, again; and again, because of her. The first time, a noble, heroic sacrifice— for her sake. _“I wanted Amanda Ripley to have closure.”_ This time, the desperate struggle of self-preservation, but she had still led to his death again, all the same.

_You talk like I’ve had an actual life._

            Choking sobs started from deep inside her chest. Her vision blurred with forming tears, spilling silently, cutting through the grime and white fluid. She was shaking so violently it hurt, but there was no time for grief, to scream out her anger and betrayal. The Alien would have heard the shots— this was not a large vessel, not like the Sevastopol station— and would be investigating the disturbance even as she stood there, over the dead body.

_You talk like I’ve had an actual life._

            She took a steeling breath, closing her eyes a moment to force away the tears. There were still people alive to be saved, and the dead to be avenged.

            There was no time for a ruined woman to deal with the tainting of the image of the dead.

            _You talk like..._

            She stepped over the synthetic corpse, grabbing her discarded flamethrower as she stepped into dimly lit halls.

            She had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> [So interferon on tumblr posted a thing.](http://interferonalpha.tumblr.com/post/114404373170/what-i-want-in-an-alien-isolation-sequel)  
>  And I looked at that and went "I'm gonna write a fic based on that".  
> BECAUSE I'M A SOULLESS, HEARTLESS MONSTER.  
> PLEASE END MY WRETCHED EXISTENCE.  
> I'M SO SORRY.


End file.
